


Water, My Darling

by SqueakyClam



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: A lot of pain, Angst, Banishment Route, Brumm is just doing what he thinks is right, Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Could probably be read either way, Gen, Grimm is tired, He doesn't want to do this anymore, I don't blame him, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Just angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Not outright said, OH not just canon dialogue, Pain, everyone is in pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25411111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueakyClam/pseuds/SqueakyClam
Summary: The ritual had gone on for countless centuries. Time after time, kingdom after kingdom; flames were collected, the Nightmare Heart beat strong, and the cycle would never end.The toll this has on the Troupe's Leader is often overlooked... by all but one loyal member. One who vows to free his master from these chains, so this cursed nightmare can finally meet its end.
Relationships: Brumm & Grimm (Hollow Knight), Brumm/Grimm (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	Water, My Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Here's that angst I promised!  
> Ya'll writing Grimm like "his sexy silky voice" and I'm like "nO have you LISTENED to this man speak?? he is dehydrated help him"
> 
> Look guys, I am capable of prying my hands off of Zote for two (2) seconds so I can write one'a the other ideas I've had stewing in the back of my head. are ya proud of me  
> Don't worry tho, I'll be writin the next zote chapter next pffp

“Brumm.”

Without missing a beat, the musician’s head craned back and up to meet the eyes of his master. The Troupe leader’s eyes were distant, clouded – vaguely pointed toward the tent’s entrance, where a new, small Summoner had hurried away… to harvest.

“Water, please.”

“Mrmm. Of course, Master.”

As it had always been.

* * *

The ritual was a constant cycle. Neverending, always progressing in the same fashion. The Troupe would heed the call of an unfortunate new cog in their machine, and the flames would be gathered. Marvelous dances between Master and Summoner; perfect patterns completed with the flickers of scarlet firelight and entranced gazes of the fellow Kin.

The music would swell, the audience would applaud… and the child would be fed.

The child that would someday usurp his father. Like a phoenix, the flames would die – only to be reborn again. And again. And again.

The cycle takes a toll on every member, whether they have awareness of it or not. The Kin grow empty and faceless, their desires slowly wiped away, and all they focus on is the beating of their united hearts. Few have thought of their own, aside the one that reins above all else:

_Burn the father. Feed the child._

As it had always been.

“Brumm.”

One of those few exceptions, if only slightly. He held no memory of his past, yet he was free to think as he wished. His mind was yet to abandon him, for a reason he was unsure of. Despite this control of will, he remained loyal to the Kin. Loyal to the Troupe. Loyal to his master.

His music grew softer, yet never ceased, as he faced his master again. Three flames collected, and the child had grown. This new Summoner was a quick one. Perhaps that’d make this cycle easier on them all.

“Water.”

Grimm. His voice, once so smooth and alluring, had degraded with the centuries. It was rough, scratchy, nigh impossible to listen to without flinching away. The way he spoke once brought Summoner’s to madness, carrying a wondrous charm that no one could deny… yet now it sounded almost pitiful.   
This was to be expected, however. Centuries of fire was burning him alive from the inside. Every rebirth promised a stronger flame, one that scorched and massacred his entire being, yet refused him the release of death. The Nightmare’s Heart must go on, and it will not bow to its representative’s suffering.

“Mrmm. Yes, master.”

Brumm gave no objections to his master’s demands. He couldn’t even fathom the amount of agony his Master was facing when he was in silence… one could only pray they never understood the pain he felt when he was forced to speak.

So Brumm adjusted to this way of communication.  
Fragmented sentences. Short and sweet, to the point.

He wouldn’t dare ask his Master for more.

* * *

Three more flames. The time had come for the first grand performance.

Brumm had no need to practice nor prepare. Countless years of the same repetitive song had made him nothing short of a professional.

The Kin were already enthusiastic, filling the seats long before the Summoner had even returned. They could simply feel a flame’s consumption by the Grimmchild, and they knew what awaited when the deed was finished.   
Everyone anticipated the ritual’s dance. Even if they had seen it before. Over. And over. And over.

The Summoner arrived, child in tow. The Kin could hardly stifle their excitement from the stands, though they knew they must remain quiet before their reveal.   
Brumm stood idle at the curtain, drawing it closed behind the Summoner as they entered the stage. If they died in the process, well… what was another hateful pang of the Nightmare Heart, when the Troupe was no stranger to such searing pain?

_“Wonderful. Wonderful! My kin arrive and the time has come.”_

The Summoner stared up blankly, ignorant to the Kin shrouded in darkness; blissfully unaware of the dance that must now commence.

The master’s cloak parted, and the child eagerly flew towards him. Grimm captured the child, and made sure to swiftly turn his back to the Summoner as he did so. From where Brumm stood, he could not see his master’s expression, but he already knew.  
More flame crowded in. Another burst of _burning,_ one that Grimm always thought he’d be numb to by now. Even his cloak writhed and shook, as if taken by aggressive winds.  
Brumm could recall the times where he had a clearer view, and was forced to remain stoic as his master nearly doubled over on one occasion, tears pricking his eyes. Brumm hadn’t even been aware Grimm could cry, but he hated how he had no choice but to watch. Watch as those tears caused steam to billow, and Grimm’s teeth clenched in order to hold down a shriek. The Kin and Summoner at the time had only though the rising steam an interesting addition to the show…

But Brumm knew. And he wished he didn’t.

This time, however, must’ve been slightly more tolerable – as Grimm managed to sputter out words.  
 _“This searing fire... It carries well the Ritual's promise.”_

Grimm stilled, straightened to his full height, and snapped his fingers.

The room flashed with light, though not the glistening radiance that would send any Hallownest insect into an uncontrollable stupor. A crimson warmth, cascading over the stage and revealing the audience. Lanterns that held the these red embers allowed their glow to elegantly sway and _crackle,_ a threatening beauty that could consume anything in its destructive path.

Grimm turned his head over his shoulder. Though that ruby gaze was not meant for Brumm, the musician was unable to stop himself from trying to meet the stare. Just so he could glimpse the torment beneath that faux suave demeanor.

_“Dance with me, my friend.”_

His inflection was worn worse. One could practically hear the way the newly drained flames lapped at his throat, yet Grimm played it as though there was nothing to bother him.

“Mrmm… yes, Master,” Brumm inaudibly mumbled to himself, not even hearing the rest of the proposition as his hands began to move… the accordion’s music overtaking the silence, enrapturing the audience and anyone else who dared listen.

A bow, and the dance commenced.

* * *

_“Bravo, my friend. Hear how the crowd adores you! They've not seen such a show in a long time.”_

A grand performance it had been, indeed. The Kin’s feverish clapping was still yet to simmer, as every last one relished in the feeling of the Nightmare Heart’s pleased beats. A successful step in the ritual. The Heart would grow merciful for a time, satisfied for this moment and this moment alone.

_“Look here! How our child has grown, nourished and strengthened by the heat of our passionate dance!”_

The Grimmchild chirruped and squeaked, circling the Summoner and fluttering with new energy. Said Summoner’s gaze followed the child, yet they did not utter a word. Come to think of it, they hadn’t spoken once. Not that Brumm was aware of.  
Yet Brumm was more focused on his master. He would argue it was to watch for cues, yet only he knew the true reason.

And there it was: The faintest traces of a genuine smile. Not the smirks he wore for his shows or intimidation… one filled with affection for his offspring. His eyes trailed the child as it exercised its new form, swooping and diving, spiraling through the air; young and free. Fueled by its youthful excitement, and thus not caring for the scorching flares that still raked at its insides.  
Brumm knew his master yearned for that feeling of freedom, yet every member knew that no part of the Troupe was truly free. That child was just another cog, and it too would face this reality someday.

Despite this, the Nightmare Heart had granted them all a moment of relief. These successful endeavors always ended with Grimm’s mood brightened, if only slightly. He spoke easier, able to cast aside his strain if only for a minute. He gave the illusion of choice to the Summoner, asking if they planned to continue despite the obvious ramifications. The Summoner did not answer, only holding an unwavering eye contact throughout the exchange.

_“Our scarlet eyes will watch you keenly... friend.”_

And he vanished, leaving a plume of smoke behind him, and extinguishing the flames that the audience basked in. Silence claimed the room once more, though Brumm knew of his master’s whispers to the Summoner. He knew there was a final step, and he had always dreaded it.

Three more flames.   
A final dance.  
 _Burn the father.  
Feed the child._

Brumm kept to the shadows, seeing as the Summoner turned to leave again. Their eyes were empty, their expression was unreadable, and they did not hesitate as they hastily exited the stage – their feet softly pattering down the corridor as they left the tent entirely.

Brumm took a step and was halted immediately.

“Brumm,”

A pause, and he looked up. There his master stood. The moment of solace had passed, and Grimm was simply exhausted.

“Water, my friend.”

A term of endearment. His mood wasn’t completely foul, then.

“…Mrmm. Of course, Master.”

* * *

“Mrmm. You came.”

Before him stood the Summoner. They and Brumm, sharing similar stoic presentations, had met inside this old house of webs. Hidden deep in the darkest reaches of Hallownest, save for chambers locked away for eternity. A distant village, as some may call it. Homes constructed with cobwebs, the scent of death and decay still lingering in the air. The constant scurrying and scuttling of the infected weaverlings – a sound only drowned out by the gentlest flickers of a scarlet flame.

“The red flame I've gathered from this dead Kingdom. You would claim it... for our Master. For his final act.”

Brumm was all too aware of the corpses that littered this cramped room. Hollowed out husks of insects, permanently trapped in thick layers of web… some with their sullen, empty eyes still peeking out of their encasing. In a way, Brumm could almost sympathize with these unfortunate bugs. Falling prey to something larger and stronger, ending with nothing; bound into a fate unforgiving and unstoppable.

“Endless, repeating songs of sacrifice, of servitude. For the Ritual. For the troupe. For the Master.”

At mention of its father, the Grimmchild perked up, flying over to Brumm and hovering aside his shoulder. Brumm met its gaze and hoped he could still convey some amount of sorrow through his mask. Not that the child would understand what for.

“Even this child was born into invisible chains. Mrmm.”

The child let out a soft _nyrrrm,_ as if attempting to mimic the musician. A sense of guilt then clouded Brumm’s mind, as he knew the fate that would befall this innocent creature. He knew both potential fates, in fact; and neither were comforting.

“So we serve... Thus it has ever been. Yes?”

Brumm returned his stare to the Summoner, whom hadn’t moved.

“Take the flame then, it is why you came here.”

Without a fight, as there was none left in him at this age, Brumm released his hold on the flame. The child eagerly dashed forward, devouring as if it were a tasty morsel of prey, before reclaiming its position above the Summoner’s head.   
Brumm was no fool. He saw the child’s shaking, the initial flinch as it instinctually captured the fire. There had been no will in such an action. The child only did as it knew it must.

“It is done... and yet...”

Brumm tore his eyes away from the Grimmchild, his tone turning stern – yet solemn – as he continued to speak with the Summoner.

“It is not merely by fortune that we meet here, in the darkest, furthest reaches of the world, where the Master's scarlet eyes can not see us.”

He spoke carefully, shoving down any potential bubbling of emotion. He let his heartbeat muffle, as he knew the Nightmare Heart’s inevitable outrage toward the idea he had conceived.   
But he had to be free.

His master must be freed.

“Mrmm. A song that never ends... is no song at all.”

* * *

He was unsure if the Summoner would willingly aid him. Thus, he was sure to phrase his directions and request as though it was for the good of these lands. For the good of this broken kingdom.  
As if Brumm truly cared for the fate of a kingdom long dead. No. It held no meaning to him.

All he cared for was his master.

Here he stands now, transfixed on the burning coals. Beneath the tall flame that reached for the rocky ceiling… the one that had roared to life with their summoning.   
Brumm never wanted to hear that roar again, for he knew the torture it held in store. For the kin, for him – for Grimm.

If the Summoner continued their path and completed the ritual, so be it. Grimm would never hold the knowledge of Brumm’s foiled plan, nor would he be aware of the completed one… as he could finally be put to rest.   
The very thought was enough to have Brumm’s grip on his staff tighten.   
This had to end.

…Footsteps.

How he heard them through the sound of flames and howling winds, Brumm wasn’t sure. Perhaps it had been the sheer focus he had developed, born out of a desperate hope that the Summoner would fulfill his wishes. With this in mind, he was almost certain he had imagined the sound.  
Yet when he opened his eyes – which he hadn’t realized were closed – there they stood. Expectantly waiting, with the Grimmchild’s oblivious chirps echoing in the cavern.

“So you followed me here, to where the ritual began. You would join me in breaking it then?”

He concealed his spark of hope, awaiting the Summoner’s response. When he received nothing, he opted to continue, internally pleading for the Summoner to listen.

“It is painful to defy the Master, but our harvest... it profanes this dark, quiet Kingdom. This once, I would see the Ritual fail.”

He couldn’t stand the sounds of the child. Every trill felt like a nail through Brumm’s chest, but he knew what had to be done.

“Mrmm… Now! Let us destroy the anchor and banish the Master. Never shall he return here again!”

Sure not to show his reluctance, Brumm wasted not another second lifting the staff he carried and slamming it down into the brazier. It took a hefty amount of effort to pierce through the sacred metalwork, but he managed with a hard grunt. The grimmchild squealed at the sudden sound, darting backwards. Brumm refused to glance back, facing away from the embers that came flooding from the brazier.   
He didn’t want to see this.

A few seconds, and Brumm almost worried that the Summoner left, but then he heard it. Clashes and clangs, the undeniable sound of a nail striking the anchor again and again. The surrounding flames began to lash about in a twisted fury, giving a horrible cry every time the brazier was hit. Brumm could feel the Nightmare Heart’s rage, and had to grit his teeth and clutch at his chest to bear the pain.   
What broke him was the yowls of the Grimmchild, which was soon followed by a powerful surge of flame bursting from the anchor. He was knocked back, collided with the floor, and all went black.

* * *

_“Mrmm… Master.”_

_“Yes, Brumm?”_

_“…Do not feel an obligation to answer if it pains you, but I have something to ask.”_

_“Anything, my friend. Ask away.”_

_An awkward silence, an uncomfortable shuffle, and words barely able to be heard._

_“Why do you torture yourself so? Why carry through these cycles of torment? I have seen the effects of this ritual upon your wellbeing… mrmm. Why continue? Surely you yearn for this night terror’s end, so the curtain may close on this endless suffering?”_

_Nothing. A fear of asking too much. A question almost taken back, until an answer was given._

_“Brumm, this a task I was created to complete. My breed have one purpose, and that is to serve the Nightmare’s heart. The wounds I gain are unfortunate, and the scars I bear are eternal; but such is the way of the Troupe. Without me – without us – the Nightmare Heart would be doomed to die out. Similarly, without the Heart, we fall. It is a symbiosis adopted to keep both parties alive, and if that means I must succumb to the fires that burn within, so be it.”_

_“…Mrmm. Do you wish it otherwise?”_

_“Pardon?”_

_“Excuse my intrusive questions, Master… but… if given the choice, would you leave these duties behind, and pursue a life free of turmoil?”_

_Beat._

_“…Yes. Yes, I feel I would.”_

_. . ._

_“Brumm?”_

_“Yes, master?”_

_“…Water, my darling.”_

_“Yes, master.”_

_To extinguish this burn._

* * *

When he awoke, he didn’t know where he was.

He found himself on the ground, in an open field. An accordion lay beside him, and his hands were firmly clenched onto a small object. He blearily blinked a few times, before sitting up. His head reeled from the movement, yet he was more intrigued over his surroundings.  
A small, sad town was to his left, with lumafly lanterns hanging peacefully from their posts. The air was calm and serene, with only the slightest breeze passing through.

Curious! He couldn’t help but wonder how he got here.  
Better yet, he couldn’t help but wonder who he was.

His attention turned to the object in his hands, which turned out to be a small charm. It was carved into the shape of a mask, surrounded by an intricate design of red… petals? Perhaps it was meant to be fur. He wasn’t quite sure.  
Either way, it felt… familiar, somehow. His memory stirred for an instant, and he felt a sense of hurt. He saw flashes of crimson before his eyes, and a moment of fear shifted into an intense longing that he didn’t understand.

He stared at the charm for an indeterminable amount of time. It was important, this he knew – but he was ignorant as to why.

He was snapped from his trance when an old bug approached him, one introducing himself as the town’s elder, and asking him if he was alright.  
He responded with uncertainty, allowing the elder to help him to his feet. When asked from whence he came, or what his name was… he could only respond with a shrug.

Fortunately, this old bug was kind and welcoming, offering a place to stay in this quaint little town… Dirtmouth, it was called.  
Gaining a cheerful tone, this… whomever he was, gathered up the instrument and agreed to stay.

_Hmm… just what was his name? Nyrrmm… No, that didn’t sound right. Close, though… perhaps Nymm?_

Well, it’s what he’d settle with for now. Nymm. Yeah! He liked that.

He supposed his lack of memory shouldn’t matter. If he couldn’t remember it, it must not be very interesting. All he knew was that he was here now, in a little cozy town… albeit a little melancholy.   
Nothing a little music wouldn’t fix, he was certain.

A sad tune came to him like an instinct. His hands moved on their own, as if taking up a pattern he had long forgotten.

…Sad. Hrmm. He wonders if he’s supposed to feel sad.

No, no. Though he can’t remember much, he feels as though he had done something right. He may never know what that was, but he was content with being unaware.  
  
Keep this town lively.

Give them a performance they won’t forget.

_…Water?_

…

…Yes, whomever you were.

Anything for you.

**Author's Note:**

> "Dear friend, I heard a violent scream from below. Even my song could not mask such a horrible shriek. Was it pain, or rage? I find I'm rather sensitive to such things."  
> \- this line from nymm makes me upset so I'm sharing it here
> 
> wooomp I dunno what else to sa y


End file.
